Hannah tried to move, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. If she could just open her eyes and see where she was . . .
Her lashes parted enough to reveal a flat ceiling, not the sloping roof that sheltered her bed above the dress shop. Panic gripped her, and a whimper vibrated in her throat.
“Hannah?” A masculine voice echoed near her ear. A familiar voice, one that reached beyond the fear and calmed her. “It’s all right. You’re in my house. Delia cleaned you up, and she’s in the kitchen heating some broth. Doc said nothing was broken. You should be fine after a day or two of rest.”
She struggled to follow the stream of words. Willing her eyes to focus, she blinked and pried her lashes farther apart. A dark blur materialized above her. Then he touched her. The backs of his knuckles whispered against her cheek, and she turned into his caress. When the features of his face finally converged into a recognizable image, she started to wonder if this wasn’t a dream after all.
“Jericho? You’re smiling.”
“Am I?” He stroked her cheek again. Warm tingles coursed through her, and instinctively, she followed his touch a second time. His smile widened. “I must be happy.”
The change in him was quite startling. His amber eyes glowed with an inner light she’d not seen before, and the worry lines that creased his face faded into the background. He looked younger, more vibrant, more . . . everything.
“You’re quite handsome when you’re happy.”
Jericho trailed the back of one finger under her chin. “I’ll make note of your preference.”
Heat rose to her face as she realized she had spoken the thought aloud. She’d better get a grasp on her faculties before she completely humiliated herself in front of him. Hannah turned her head away in a pointless attempt to hide her embarrassment and heard him scrape a chair closer to the bedside. Only then did she recall the words he had said earlier.
She was in his house.
In a
bed
, in his house.
Her eyes darted about the room. A shaving mug and razor sat next to the ewer and bowl on the bureau. A pair of men’s boots lay discarded in a muddy heap by the door. A battered brown hat hung on the bedpost.
She was in
his
bed, in his house.
“I shouldn’t be here.” Hannah clutched the blankets to her chest and bolted upright. Pain ripped through her head. She moaned and squeezed her eyes shut, releasing the covers to press her fingers against her temples.
“Easy now,” Jericho said. “You’ve got a pretty good knot on the side of your head. If you move slower it won’t hurt so much.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently laid her back on the pillow.
The soreness retreated under his tender ministration, and she opened her eyes again. Just in time to see that she was in a nightdress. Before she could do more than gasp, Jericho covered her back up to her chin.
“J.T.?” Footsteps sounded in the hall. “Is Hannah awake? I thought I heard her voice.” Cordelia entered the room, carrying a cup full of something that smelled of herbs and beef. “I brought some broth, if you think she can manage a few sips.”
Jericho rose from his chair. “Here, take my seat. I’ll get some more pillows to prop her up.”
Hannah relaxed her grip on the blankets. Having Cordelia in the room restored the propriety of the situation, and the irrational panic that speared through Hannah upon waking in Jericho’s bed diminished. There was sure to be a sensible explanation for why she was in their home. She simply couldn’t remember what it was at the moment.
Jericho returned with an armload of cushions. He laid them on the foot of the bed and came around to the far side. “I’m going to help you sit up, but we’re going to do it slowly this time.”
He supported her head and shoulders, lifting her with exaggerated care. Cordelia plumped the pillows and arranged them behind Hannah’s back. Jericho eased her down, and she sank gratefully into the cushioned softness.
“Here you go.” Cordelia placed the broth cup in her hand. “I let it cool some, so it’s not too hot.”
Hannah let the warmth seep into her fingers for several seconds before taking a drink. The well-seasoned stock flowed over her tongue and enlivened her sluggish senses. Her nostrils flared to take in more of the aroma and to inhale the heat of the steam.
“Mmmm. It’s delicious. Thank you.”
She finished most of the broth before her stomach began to churn. Deciding to extend Jericho’s advice to eating as well as moving, Hannah didn’t push herself to drink the rest. Lowering her arms to her lap, she looked from sister to brother. “What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?” Cordelia reached forward to claim the cup.
Hannah scrunched her forehead. “I’m not sure. Things are jumbled in my mind.”
She looked to Jericho for a clue. He’d put distance between them again, leaning against the wall near the doorway, seemingly content to let his sister take over her care. His smile had retreated, too, although warmth still radiated from his eyes. Hannah loved Cordelia dearly, but she missed the unguarded man who had stroked her face and hovered over her with such tenderness moments ago. Would he ever come to her again?
“J.T.,” Cordelia said. “Tell her what you know. Maybe it will spark a memory.”
One side of his mouth quirked upward. “You went for a swim, and I had to fish you out of the river.”
The river.
Images shuffled in her brain, some sharper than others. The storm. The bridge. The flood. An unseen hand pulled mental pictures out of the scrambled deck that was her brain and set them before her in an order that finally made sense. The carriage tipping. The horse running off. The river sweeping her away.
Water everywhere. Over. Under. Currents dragged and flipped her. Which way was up? Her lungs threatened to burst. Flailing her arms, she finally broke through the surface and gulped a breath. She glimpsed the bank.
Swim!
She stroked with all her might but made little progress. Her legs tangled in her skirt. Debris from the flood crashed into her, bruising her body and jarring her off course.
I’ll never make it
. Exhaustion sapped her strength. Her muscles rebelled. Unable to do more, she submitted to the river’s will. Her shoulders, then neck, then chin sank beneath the surface. As she begged the Lord to take her swiftly, the arms of a fallen tree stretched out to catch her.
“It’s coming back to you, isn’t it?” Cordelia’s soft voice brought Hannah back to the present.
“Yes.” The word scratched against her fear-swollen throat.
“J.T. told me you were caught in a flash flood.”
Hannah nodded and glanced at Jericho. He watched her with an intent expression yet remained silent in the background. She returned her gaze to Cordelia and drew in a deep breath. She was safe. The river was gone.
“I . . . ah . . . was on the bridge when I realized what was happening.” Hannah squirmed beneath the covers. “It was too late to go back. We tried to outrun it, but it crashed into us before we could reach the other side. I managed to get the horse unfastened and tried to hold on to his harness so he could pull me free of the carriage poles, but he was too fast. Then the river knocked the shaft into me. I lost my balance. I tried to hang on, but there was too much water. I couldn’t breathe. The next thing I knew, I was hurtling down the river.”
“How frightful! It’s a wonder you survived.” Cordelia clasped her hand. “Surely, God sent his angels to protect you.”
Hannah smiled. “Yes, he did. Two as a matter of fact. One that resembled a tree with long arms, and one who looked an awful lot like your brother.” Hannah turned her smile on Jericho, who frowned and pushed away from the wall. He’d shuttered his face, withdrawing from her. Why?
“Thank you for pulling me out of the river,” she said, trying to scale the wall he was reconstructing. “I’m sure my story would have ended much differently had you not come looking for me.”
“I figure you would have found a way to crawl out eventually,” Jericho grumbled. “You’re too stubborn to let a little thing like a flash flood best you.”
Hannah’s smile faded at his surly tone. Though he’d played the gallant hero for her, it seemed his attitude hadn’t changed much regarding her character. Then she recalled the busted carriage. If someone had borrowed her sewing machine and broken it, even unintentionally, she’d be grumpy, too. Perhaps her accounting of the afternoon’s events had reminded him of his financial loss. She’d rather believe that to be the cause of his sudden irritability than a continued disapproval of her as a person, even if it meant shouldering the blame for the buggy’s destruction. Besides, it
was
her fault. She never should’ve driven onto that bridge.
“Jericho, I’m so sorry about the carriage.” She spoke before he could escape from the room. “As soon as I’m able, I’ll make payments to cover the repairs.”
He spun around and glared at her. “Do you think I care about a stupid buggy when you nearly lost your life today? The thing can sit on that bridge and rot as far as I’m concerned.” He stormed out of the room, mumbling something to his sister about a cot at the livery.
Hannah just sat and stared, more confused than ever. “I didn’t mean to make him angry.”
“Don’t mind him,” Cordelia said. “J.T.’s never been one to accept gratitude from others with much grace. I think your comparing him to an angel got him flustered. As for the rest . . . ?” She stood and fussed with the blankets, smoothing out wrinkles and tugging the edges flat. “You gave him quite a scare today. I don’t think he’s completely recovered yet. He’s just a little testy from all the excitement.”
Cordelia helped Hannah lie down, taking out the extra pillows. “Rest now,” she said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Hannah complied, and when she drifted into slumber, she dreamed of Jericho—smiling.
Hannah moved back to her own quarters the following afternoon, and by Saturday she was ready to resume her routine. She’d urged Cordelia to exercise without her yesterday, but the girl refused to leave her side. Now that she’d had two full nights of sleep and more rest than she could stand during the day, Hannah planned to eradicate Cordelia’s excuse for abandoning her calisthenics. She was still a bit sore and prone to headaches, but Hannah couldn’t let her friend down. Founders’ Day was only two weeks away. They couldn’t stop now.
She stepped into her loose-fitting gymnastic costume and laced up her low-heeled boots. Glancing at her reflection in the small mirror above the crate that held her pitcher and basin, she frowned. Her sleeping braid hung down her back, and frizzy wisps of hair stood out around her head. Most mornings, she flattened the worst of the fluff with a lick to her fingers and a tuck behind her ears before heading out for her constitutional, but today that didn’t seem sufficient. What if she ran into Jericho?
Her heart stuttered as she remembered his smile and the husky quality of his voice as he spoke to her when she first awakened. She hadn’t seen much of him yesterday, but he had come home for the noon meal and sat with her while Cordelia made her lunch delivery to the telegraph office.
He told her about how he and Tom had gotten the buggy back on its wheels and dragged it to the wagon shed. She told him about Ezra’s rheumatism and the whittled hummingbird. Teasing her about the way that bird had stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, Jericho returned her purse. Then he sheepishly admitted to slinging her over his saddle like a bounty hunter’s prize and laughed over the justice the hummingbird had doled out on her behalf.
It had been the most delightful hour she’d ever spent in his company. They hadn’t argued once.
Hannah undid her braid, dampened the flyaway ends around her face, and brushed the wavy tresses until they shone. Not wanting Cordelia to suspect she had put any extra effort into her appearance, she refashioned her hair into the normal braid that hung just short of her waist. Only this one was tidier.
With a giddy flutter in her stomach at the thought of possibly seeing Jericho, Hannah opened her door . . . and gasped. Two large shadows loomed on her landing. It took her startled brain several seconds to recognize that the shapes resembled furniture more than crouching villains. Sagging against the doorframe in relief, she tried to puzzle out how a pair of oak dining chairs had come to be on her staircase.
“You planning on turning that landing into a sittin’ porch?”
Hannah stretched her head over the side rail to see Louisa walking to the water pump between their buildings.
“Seems a bit tight for gettin’ in an out o’ your door, if you ask me.” The laundress winked as she set her bucket under the spout.
“Did you see who left these here? I’ve no idea where they came from.”
Louisa abandoned her bucket and moved closer to the staircase, examining the chairs through an upturned squint. “They look decent. Maybe a friend left ’em. Someone who knows you’re a little short on furniture.”
Hannah glanced back into her room, blushing a little at the humble trunk benches and makeshift table that adorned her home. She really could use some chairs, but who would know that?
“So you didn’t see who it was?” Hannah wedged herself between the chairs and the railing, cupping her hand around the top of the slender rod that formed the outer edge of the seat back closest to her.
“Nope,” Louisa answered, retracing her steps to the pump. She offered no further clues as she turned her attention to working the handle.
Hannah sighed. Not knowing the giver’s identity was going to drive her batty. She scoured her mind for names of people who could possibly know of her need for chairs. Jericho and Tom had helped her move in. Cordelia, of course. Danny came in whenever he delivered her wood. Neither Jericho nor Cordelia would’ve said anything to anyone, but Tom or Danny, in their innocence, could have jabbered about it. It was possible that she mentioned something about her accommodations to Ezra during one of their morning chats, but she didn’t remember anything specific. With his woodworking skills and soft heart, he would be a logical benefactor, but living so far from town would make it nearly impossible to deliver goods in the middle of the night, especially with his rheumatism.